


About a Certain Night of Love

by Arithanas



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Genderfuckery, Jewelry, Kink Negotiation, Pegging, Pillow Talk, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or how Milady got certain sapphire ring</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: About naming convention: Olivier was the name Dumas gave Athos in "La jeunesse des mousquetaires", so, I used it for this story; also,although is certain we will never know Milady's real name (she had far too many), Anne was the name Athos called her when she was his wife and it would be ridiculous if he called Milady or madame in bed.

Anne never liked much to go to the market when she was the sister of a priest, people of this little town was not kind enough to behave her like she was one of their own, and now that she lives in the old gothic manor they eyes had gained weight; Olivier was right, moving to the castle the same day his father found his place in the cemetery was not the best idea, but she was in a hurry to secure her position. The townsfolk were not convinced she was a wife, because they lacked a big, fancy wedding to show the whole county his change of status; those poor boors treat her with respect due to a mistress, but not to a countess and that soured Anne’s mood considerably every time she found herself amidst them, a situation that could not be avoided, since Olivier had his hopes of acceptation in frequent visitation of the village.

Most of the time, she idled her time away on the village once he went for his morning hunt, but this day was special, a group of merchants were on La Fère in their way to Paris, Anne couldn’t let the opportunity to look over their goods; maybe she could find something to tempt her husband even further. Autumn is coming and, with the season, the visit of his relatives, if she was not round with child by then, they could force the issue of the annulation, it didn’t matter how hard Olivier fight against it. Her mind was wandering into that grim topic when a couple of strong hands took her by the waist with the confidence that rights bestow.

“ _Monsieur_ , my husband,” Anne called, her hands never parted from the rich fabrics of the merchant.

“At your service, _madam_ ,” he replied and placed a swift kiss on her cheek, “wasting your time with clothes, I see. You don’t need to invest your time this way…” his voice was louder on Anne’s right ear and carried a whisper, because its meaning was no meant to be heard for everyone. “You know that the least thing I care about when I’m with you is your clothes.”

He was right; fortunately, the clothes tend to become irrelevant as soon as they achieve a relative intimacy.

“Thank God I don’t dress for your pleasure, _monsieur_ , but for my own satisfaction.”

“Don’t say those words, Anne, because I know you mean them.”

“And?”

“Oh, you know I’m quite a hunter…”

Anne laughed because she knew the joke, one of the few bawdy jokes she ever heard from his mouth; what made it funnier was that was real, he always went deep into the bush, shoot twice, and ate what he shoot, though not precisely in that order. In that regard, Anne was a very fortunate woman, but since last week her husband was harboring less productive ideas and persisted in pursuing them with unyielding contumacy.

“Nonetheless, I'll risk everything if you allow me to go beyond the bush.”

“Such a bold request, _M. le comte_ , so shameless stated and so relentlessly pursued.”

Anne was annoyed by her failure to recognize how a bed-savant was he under the manners and clothes of a noble, that circumstance was something unexpected that hinders her plans of being a mother and secure her place and title. Maybe she should relinquish access to her narrow path to keep him happy and pliable to her littlest vagary, but a part of her, the remnants of the nun inside her, was reluctant to his petition.

“Maybe, _monsieur_ ,” Anne continued, trying to conceal her annoyance at the topic, “if you have to bear propositions of that kind, you would not pursue it so eagerly.”

“Am I to assume you are willing to go beyond _my_ bush? That pleases me,” Olivier said confidently, and then he turned around to seat in the table of the fabrics. “Make the arrangements.”

Anne was flabbergasted for a moment, not sure if she quite understood the words that fell from her husband’s mouth. There was no way in France a man can say his wife that words, not ever.

“Repeat those words, please?” She said when she finally found her voice again.

“I think what I say, I say what I think and I try to be as clear as possible; therefore, I am very surprised for I have not been understood.” Olivier replied, his hand took Anne’s hand and his lips placed a gallant kiss on it. “I said: That pleases me, make the arrangements.”

“Monsieur, you must be in a mean, mischievous spirit!”

“Obviously, my dear wife, you underestimate the desire I have to be the trailblazer of certain narrow route...” Olivier approached her face and kissed her lips very softly. “Buy whatever you want. I’m going to play the Count and talk with the leader of these merchants...”


	2. Chapter 2

Anne kept wondering, as she brushed her blond hair, why had she made preparations. She could easily make an excuse, La Ferè was not Paris and the adequate tools were not available; that excuse could be milked for months without he raised an eyebrow in suspicion. But God must have blessed his hard head and even harder posterior, because the merchants had such tools in existence and available, even more, they were eager to get rid of them. Anne chose the more intimidating of them, an old relic they reclaimed from a Dutch widow state. The object was brand new, made of hard wood and covered in the best leather; Anne was pleased because she barely can touch her fingertips around the girth. That object was not a tool, but a weapon to call off his bluff, because it has to be a bluff, Anne was sure. No man in France...

The more she repeated that in her mind, the less real it sounded.

She uncovered the marked shoulder and applied a thick coat of balm in preparation for the cosmetic paste to disguise the hideous _fleur-de-lis_ , one of the myriad of preposterous preparations; nothing could be more absurd than to try to cover what no one had sought before. The grimace in the mirror was the testimony of her life with a man who couldn’t care less for dresses or make-up since he was at his prime and was bound to discard anything that hinder his efforts. His only defect, in that regard, was that he had proved potency, but not fruitfulness.

His footsteps in the stair, followed by the soft footsteps of his factotum, were the signal she needed to heed to rush out her toilet. He had to found her underdressed, but not seductive; carefully tended, but not artificial; ready, but not eager. Maybe that way he could forget the fancy in his brain and follow his body as God intended. The door opened a crack, he never opened it widely in attention of her modesty and, Anne suspected, because he was jealous enough to have the view of her body just for himself.

“…tomorrow, you better make sure that problem is not a problem anymore…”

The sound of his voice through the crack sent shivers down Anne’s spine. She couldn’t help it, his voice was aphrodisiac made sound and she always found it difficult to resist when he addressed harsh words to the service.

“Well, my dove,” he started by way of greeting once he entered their room and came to her side, his voice lacking authority and harshness. “I finally get rid of the Count. May I reclaim my wife?”

Anne let him kiss her cheek and feigned to be busy with the jars and the bottles. After the kiss, he started to undo the ties of his doublet, as he used to do every night, that is, as if they were a burden.

“Oh, I bought a little something today,” Anne said carelessly, rearranging her make-up in the little table. “It was a little bit expensive, but maybe the expense is worth, if you like it.”

That smile, that indulgent smile he could give to a servant who made a mistake or to a child who said nonsense, appeared in his lips; Anne was spying it on the mirror, because she knew he would use it. God knew she hated that smile from the bottom of her heart.

“Am I allowed to see it?” His question made clear that he had not the littlest idea of what his wife had bought.

“By all means! You are the first person concerned in its application.”

The smile varied a little, as if he did not quite understand the allusion.

“It’s over the bed, in that wooden box!” Anne said and signaled carelessly, her eyes never waver from the mirror; she didn’t want to miss the spectacle.

He approached the box without suspicion, without eagerness and, when he lifted the lid, his expression changed to a carefully contained perplexity, he closed the lid without noise and turned to her, it was obvious he was suppressing some emotion.

“Who could object such a purchase?” Olivier cleared his throat, “Now, excuse me for a moment, Anne. I promise I’ll be right back.”

Anne smiled to him and tried to keep the composure while he went with long strides to the door, with a hurry she was not used to see in him, though the way he swung open the door made it quite difficult to hold back laughter.

“Grimaud!” he called as soon as the door was closed.

That was it; Anne covered her mouth and tried to stifle the laughter, she was afraid he could hear it, but the image of his adventurous husband fleeing the room was so comical she couldn't help it. She laughed alone in their room, as quietly as possible, for a good while, drying the corner of her eyes with the corners of her linen robe. Then, when she managed to regain control, she patted her back, sure that it made the idea evaporate from his brain—that it scared him straight, sort of speak—, she blow the candles on her little table and went to their bed, ready to wait for him, her mind already concocting a way to console him for having that small bout of cowardice.

She didn’t have to wait for long, his footsteps sounded hurried on the stair and that made her forehead frown, that wasn’t the sound of a man returning from a defeat. Before she could try to explain that strange occurrence, the door was swung open and his figure filled the frame, a wet robe over his shoulders, a startled and gasping servant was behind him, but she didn’t have the time to identify such servant because he was shooed away almost immediately.

“For a moment,” Anne said, the fine India linen robe closed thigh to her breast, her eyes followed him as he ditched the robe and used a towel. “I thought I had scared you.”

“Not at all!” Olivier said with a smile, rubbing his long thighs with a towel. “But since you have been so complacent with my whim, the least thing I can do is to be clean for you,” he delivered his explanation with careful disregard before standing stark naked at the candlelight. “And here I stand, ready for you to do your worst!”

“Do not you torment me!” She was more upset now than when she received that egregious proposition.

“Do not fret, my love,” Olivier came and sat by her side, as every time he saw his wife upset; his hand caressed her cheek and his lips came closer to her face without properly kissing her. “We are going to be all right, it is just a new way to play an old game.”

“But, Olivier, it is so scandalous!” Anne threw her arms over that naked frame, part of her mortified, part of her just annoyed that he insisted on a topic that proved to be so unproductive.

“If I have learned something in this life, Anne, is that nothing is a scandal, unless we make a scandal out of it,” Olivier then kissed her with all the tenderness he used to put on his caresses. Then, he continued: “We don’t have to do it; maybe I just got the wrong impression and thought you as thrilled as me on the subject.”

Then he went to pick up his shirt and made a turn around the bed to take his place by her side.  He tried to get dressed, but soon threw the piece of clothing over the duvet, too noticeably disappointed to be civil.

“Sorry to bother you,” He said with a whisper, his hands still over his wife body.

“You certainly sound crestfallen, my love.”

“You married a man, Anne, a very naughty man who used to be a lusty hellion in his heyday. And this young man had a taste of whatever he liked, again, when he was free...”

“I gather that you painted the town red quite a lot…”

“I was everywhere, Anne,” he admitted, his eyes on the canopy and a faint smile in his lips.

He certainly had good memories of his days of youth.

“My lusty husband, the young hellion,” Anne said with a smile, raising her weight to use his chest like a pillow and to let her hand roam on the soft hair that grew there, “What else did you do in your misspent youth?”

“There are things a man would never confess to his woman, Anne,” Olivier said and kissed her brow, “I can only tell you that if something was offered to a man, that man would be wondering a long time about it, even if he refused the offer.”

“So, you didn't let a woman assault your south gate?”

“That was the best guarded post up today!”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could swear that his smile was wider. “What has changed, my love?”

“I found you, Anne, and I love you, and when you suggested that I should try it first, —rather naughtily, my dear, you must confess it— I reckoned that, if I had a chance to try that particular pleasure in this life, it should be at the hands of the little angel who enraptured the bawdy imp I used to be.”

Olivier made a pause to help her unto his chest, he wanted a kiss and Anne found no objection to comply.

“That’s all, my sweetest: I’m trying to get used to the idea of never sate my curiosity!”

His fake cheerfulness was jarring, to say the least. It was obvious that he really wanted to do the deed and she disappointed him deeply.

“Shouldn't it be better if that unsavory affair should be carried out by... hmmm... someone more acquainted with the technique?”

“Please, Anne, drop the issue,” Olivier asked and he dropped his hands.

Anne felt it; it was a bad signal since he liked to touch her even if he didn’t mean to clear his carnal debt.

“Good night, my dearest,” Olivier said and turned around to sleep.

That was the drop that spilled the cup over. He couldn’t turn his back to her! That was unacceptable, because he must be head over heels for her if they meant to have a baby, that turned back was a personal insult but she couldn’t trade insult for insult and call him a coarse word, that could only make it worst.

“My love, my husband,” she called, caressing between his shoulder blades, playing the naïve, loving wife, “I’m scared…”

“You have nothing to be scared of, Anne,” he replied in the driest tone she ever heard from his mouth, “for nothing is going to happen.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Another false move, she was aware once it was too late and he turned on the mattress and sat on it a hurt expression in his eyes.

“I never meant to hurt you, Anne, and I don’t suggest that you hurt me; every time I lay myself over your body, I strive to give you pleasure, ecstasy…” he pressed his lips, he was containing his words as if he was afraid of saying something rude. “If I have ever did you harm in my endeavors to please you, _madame_ , please receive my most heartfelt apology!”

Anne threw herself to his arms, as if searching for a refuge, which was the best strategy: a hurt Olivier was a pliable Olivier, as his father knew too well, especially if he needs to feel he was the strong one. Olivier sighted and tried to hug her, his head resting on Anne’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You said that before,” she moaned, her hands petting his head, somehow that always manage to make him mellow. “I don’t understand your fascination with this…” Anne made a careful planned hesitation; to play coy always rendered her excellent results, “particular adventure.”

“I just thought it would be a treat to have it differently.” Olivier said, his voice deep and almost purring, as Anne fingers kept stroking his dark hair, “You gave me great pleasure, Anne, this is not a plaint; but sometimes I wonder how it would be to be pampered and cared for; being lovingly taken is one thing we men never have.” He heaved out a sigh. “I suppose I got carried away and let my mind dwell for so long into something that was not meant for me...”

Anne suppressed a small bout of exasperation at men and their never ending demand of proofs of love; She also cursed the innards of whoever taught him he was meant for something else than to provide seed and to make children. This was the moment when concessions must be made.

“Since it is so important to you,” Anne said, kissing his head, “I’ll do it.”

Olivier shot his head up, the old eagerness was in his face again and he seemed as excited as a child who was allowed his first pony ride. Anne made great efforts not to laugh at his expression.

“So…”

“But, you have to ask for it properly,” Anne interrupted him before he could utter another word; she could feel how a naughty smile was forming into her lips.

“Is there a wrong way to ask for pleasure, my dove?”

“Yes, it is,” she said and approached her lips to his, “it’s the one which make you sound like a boy throwing a tantrum.”

He hung his head for a second, before raising his head towards her, with a big, ashamed smile.

They kissed again, that was the sweet caress that months of repetition didn’t wear out; his hands returned to her body, with the same urgency as ever, and the same wisdom; she let out a moan when that hand found her breast and cupped it, the thumb caressing a nipple which was getting harder with every touch. Anne caressed his nape and approached closer to him, enjoying the physical tribute of his devotion.

“Pleasure me, Anne,” he gasped when his fingers found their way between her legs and stroked too wisely between the slippery pieces of hot flesh he found there. “Please, make me yours…”

That voice just enhanced her pleasure, the plea contained in those words confirmed the power she had over him and that was both sweet and exhilarating. While he used his fingers to caress her best spot, she was suddenly aware that a man willing to be buggered by his woman was even more enthralled than a man willing to take possession of said woman. A fascinating revelation for her, one which she will have to sort out another time, because, right now, she needed satisfaction between his deft fingers caressing her intimately and her mind riding the wave provoked by his complete surrender.


	3. Chapter 3

She guided him downwards, offering him the strip of white flesh that her night dress let be seen through the front slit, enjoying as his breath seemed to roll through every curve of her body; she pushed her hips towards him, silent signal that he always heeded so well, his fingers prodded slightly inside her, before caressing the tight canal with his fingertips, tracing maddening spirals inside her body. Anne let her hand roam his chest, acknowledging each of the prominences that his muscles drawn tense on the skin of his torso; as his mouth took possession of one of her nipples, Anne's fingers found their way between his legs, and she was surprised to found flaccid flesh when she expected solid pulp.

“Mayhap my body knows I won’t need it, Anne,” Olivier said when he noticed her perplexity, “I certainly don’t need it to adore you…”

The choice of the verb brought a smile to her face. Olivier was precision made flesh when words were concerned, and that verb was always used when he was about to perform like a virtuoso with that golden tongue that God gifted him with. His hands hiked the hem of her skirt and his lips kissed her long legs while she found a spot where to be comfortable while he adored her on his knees.

When they started their marriage, Anne was apprehensive of the practice: nothing that feels that good could be allowed, but he had to have his way and soon she learned to let him be, because he was a good pleasure giver and the practice only enhanced his performance.

“My husband…” she called out, her hand over the dark mane of the man who was about to bring her to the brink of death and back, “My lusty hellion…”

That had the effect of spurs in the side of an unruly stallion, his tongue caressed her with a  long lick right on the axis of her body, making her shudder and writhe over the sheets, quickening her breath, making her wanting to close and open her legs at the same time; she didn’t need a confirmation, she knew he had his eyes closed, using his hands, ears and tongue as the compass to guide his adventure and that increased her shamelessness for she knew that his whole world was at the reach of that flickering tongue.

At that moment, he was enthralled to her, his whole being at work just for her satisfaction, so unselfishly devoted to melt her on a puddle of pleasure and sated lust. He licked in silence, his tongue probing, his hands helping her to support her weight, his heated breath tickling her as he tasted the liquid evidence of his successful efforts; she moaned at his ministrations, calling his name waiting to release the throbbing pressure of her core provided by his soft-but-not-shy touch; she rode the long waves of pleasure, her rump undulating at the rhythm of his laps, bringing her closer and closer to the moment where the delightful throes where to wash away from her mind the need of a heir, of respect of acceptation…

The luscious feeling of release poured from every pore of her skin, her ragged breath made her feel lightheaded and alive and her eyes closed as the complete lassitude filled her body. For a moment there was blessed silence and quietude. When Anne recovered her senses, she saw the image of his husband, guarding her recovery; he looked at her with adoring eyes and a small brash smile of satisfaction on his lips that proclaimed his pride at a work well done; for a brief moment, Anne wonder how it would feel to have that feeling.

“Anne,” he whispered to her and reclined his body toward her, “you are beautiful when you are undone…”

“I rather see you undone than to hear your compliments,” she replied and raised her hand to caress his jowl.

“I assumed a good deal today, Anne,” his face was puzzled and that exquisite expression filled her with a warm feeling. “Excuse me, but you need to be more explicit in your intent…!”

His voice was drowned in a mumble of exquisite confusion and unexpected pleasure when their lips met and they shared the salty taste of Anne’s intimacy. Olivier wanted to be lovingly taken and Anne surely was in the mood to make him feel like a blushing bride in her wedding night. His whim had become her desire, for it make her feel powerful and brazen at the same time; she wanted him to surrender, she desired to be the one who rouse the pleasure and not the object which excited. She wanted to take him, now.

“My dearest, I promise I’ll be gentle,” she said to him, looking him intently in the eyes, before delivering the line he said to her in their wedding night, “if the rose proves to have a thorn, please forbear it and be brave, because I love you.”

Even if Anne took him by surprise, Olivier fell into his role without complaint, but there was an amused glint in his eyes at the words that echoed a blessed night. He closed those blue eyes and let his wife roll him over his back while another kiss, one more demanding was placed in his mouth. Anne noticed he tried to be passive at the caress, yielding to her cue, letting her have the lead and guide him. It didn't matter if he did it for trust or lust; he was giving himself to her completely.

“What a pretty thing you are,” she murmured, her hand found her way between his legs, disregarding his genitalia, so aggressively masculine, in favor of the little place that was offered to her, “so fresh and… untouched…”

A moan, followed from a squirm, made her realize that, even if he was eager to be taken, there were some bits of his body he was worried about.

“Hush, my dearest,” she cooed, circling his most secluded spot, “I won’t force you, if I can avoid it.”

“Anne, I had taken bullets…” he started to grumble, but she silenced him with her hand over his mouth.

“At least the first part of the preparations is in my hand, be silent and let me pleasure you.”

If his pride was bruised, it was pretty soon assuaged by the promise of pleasure. Anne kissed him again and, reluctantly, retired her hand, for they would need something slippery to make it fit.  She made a quick rush to her dressing table and returned with her balm which was slick enough to help her advances and thick enough to not being worn off easily.

“My apologies for my lack of foresight, my pigeon,” she said, imitating his habit of rendering excuses for things that were not foreseeable. “Let us continue where we left it.”

Instead of a reply, he extended his hand and silently asked for another kiss while his legs parted slightly, warily. Anne kissed him; her tongue caressed his mouth carelessly since her attention was otherwise diverted, her fingers might be not as deft as his, but what they lacked in knowledge was supplied on enthusiasm and soon her finger slipped through the crack, prompting a small jump and a moan form Olivier.

“Anne, it is…” Olivier tried to said, but what left his lips was more babble than speak.

“It is in, my dearest,” she replied with a small smirk, enjoying his confusion. “Quite effortlessly, I must remark.”

He averted his eyes and a cute blush tinted his jowls. Anne was about to comment something on the matter when he remembered his proclamation on cleanliness and that made her smile at the lengths he was willing to walk to sate his curiosity. Anne withdrew her finger slowly, goading on the feeling of the firm flesh surrounding her digit. Olivier fought and lost against another moan, the foreign caress was pretty much welcomed. Anne bent her neck and kissed his chest, his nipples, his gut, rejoicing every time she made him squirm and moan with her ministrations. It was such an amusing game, but soon she realized the grip around her finger was less constrictive, so she reckoned Olivier was ready to accept the intrusion of a second one. There were a groan and a small jolt, that reaction surprised her and made her stay still for Olivier had a startled expression, a mixture of pleasure and puzzlement so totally new that it worth contemplation.

“What is it, my love?” She asked when Olivier let out a shaky pant, “Did I hurt you?”

“No… it’s just…” another groan was produced when he tried to adjust his position, “Your fingers made me feel something I can’t quite explain.”

“Was it bad?”

“No, quite the contrary.”

“Let’s see if I can make you feel it again…” Anne tried to rummage a little in the constrained space, touching the soft walls inside him with abandonment, gauging his reactions to each prod and poke.

Olivier nodded at her intents, biting his lower lip to suppress a vocal expression when she found the place where her fingers made him feel good. Anne smiled and probed again, with a little more force, prompting him to throw back his head and moan against his will. That amusing game had a side effect that made Anne cock an eyebrow, for a neglected part of his body begun to grow with each pulsation of his rapid beating heart.

“Anne,” he whispered, his hand pulling the sleeve of her robe and almost uncovering the mark of the branding iron. “I love you.”

“And I love you too, my lusty boy,” she replied, laying her weight forward to conceal her shoulder and the secret it carried.

“If you do not take me now, I warn you: I'll waste my joys into the air…”

“I’m sure you can endure it, my dearest,” she whispered and laughed a little, “this is really amusing and I would like to do it a little longer.”

Olivier muttered something about strength and God, but insisted no more. His whole being was under an outrageous strain and Anne smiled, wondering how many women he had at the brink of pleasure with his tongue, but he delayed the crisis just because he was having a good time. Oh, she wasn’t deaf; she had a lot of gossip on lazy summer nights the country for a year, before he made his move. Lusty hellion was an understatement, and since he asked to be taken, he had to abide by the rules of the game, and, incidentally, do a little penance for the sins of his youth. She didn’t lie; it was amusing to see him this vulnerable, in need of release, pleading for a respite.

“Do you really want me to take you?” she whispered to him, her free hand toying with the hair in his chest, “Are you ready to have that hard piece of wood rammed into that little, tight place?”

He just babbled an ill formed sentence, unable to connect a simple phrase: either ‘I am’ or ‘I’m not’; his breath was almost a purr each time she delivered another bump to that place. Anne stilled her movements, her fingers slid out and he heaved a deep hard breath, either he found relief or his lungs just needed to replenish the air with urgency. Since there was not an adequate reply, pushed her fingers inside once more, gauging his reaction, which was just a shudder when she pushed the tissue inside the canal, it was soft and firm and easily recognizable once she was aware of what to seek.

“I’m yours,” he managed to articulate between the caresses, “I’m yours…”

“Then, my love, I need your help to do the thorn of my rose,” she said and her hand left his body.

The hazy quality of his gaze melted at the light of the clear understanding. Anne sat on her ankles and waited for him, the box by her side. He, who always was in such a hurry to dry the pleasure cup, smiled at her and that meek gesture made Anne thrilled and a little cruel at the same time, she cannot wait to spread him and pierce his flesh, to hear him repeat those appealing moans he just made, but louder, quite unashamed and entirely unsuitable...

His hand between her legs pulled her of her reveries; his right thumb between the soft flesh was used for reference, since his left hand was tying the thin leather straps around her waist while two other strips hanged between her thighs. The object felt heavy between her legs, completely unnatural for her hips. Oliver didn't let her dwell around the topic too long before ascertaining her femininity once again with his mouth inside her shirt, that face buried between her lovely mounds made her smile. That urgency to kiss her bosom was entirely unheard of him, but that didn’t mean he was clumsy or vulgar in his performance, he kissed and nipped, and his breath was always followed by his lips in a continuous taunting dance. That didn’t meant he had forgotten his original intent because his hands were always so busy knotting the straps to her hips, turning that object into a part of her body, no matter if temporarily.

After a while, he let her go, sighed and opened his eyes before turning them down to admire his handiwork; Anne realized something was wrong when he blinked repeatedly and extended his hand toward her side.

“Is there something amiss?” Anne questioned, trying to see her new phallus. It was quite a challenge to see it with her bosoms in the line. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

“No,” Olivier shook his head and extended his hand towards the hem of her nightshirt, “Suddenly, I realized that there is some disparity of measures…”

Before Anne could utter a reply his hand came down to her tool and pushed it towards her, it was sudden but gentle and she felt the pressure against the door of her garden. It took her a couple of bumps to realize he was polishing her wood –if she was using right the metaphor she heard him use once -an action that generated an immense pleasure that was rising with each of the rhythmic swings.

“It seems I still can tie a knot…” he whispered to her, his hand picking up tempo.

There was a distinct ring in his voice, a soft purring quality, a vaguely intimidating tone that Anne had no trouble to recognize: the hunter came back, even if he was handling male equipment that didn’t belong to him.

“There was never a doubt,” Anne said, aware that her hips followed the rhythm of his pushes, enjoying that strange caress, “but the reason of why are you fondling my toy escapes my mind...”

Olivier’s face showed his surprise and his confusion at been found at fault and he suddenly averted his eyes and his hand let go her poker as if it was hot. His father surely was hard on him, and maybe there was pretty valid reason to do so, though the idea never came to her mind before.

“I just believed a little more grease was necessary,” he said as he fumbled with the pot and its lid. “To make it fit…”

“Did you enjoy greasing my pole?” Anne said, taking the pot from his hands before he let it drop and spill all the balm in the sheets. That was a pretty expensive product to let it go to waste.

He kept his silence, all hot and bothered, nude but belligerent, ready to fight for his vanity, but never to fly by his pride. He was a hero for antique times, but confessions were never his strong point. Anne put the box and the pot over the auxiliary table and came to him, sweet and meek, kissing his cheek, letting her hand wander downwards to pet the hard-on which was waning a little.

“Come on, tell me. Who am I going to tell about it?” She cajoled and her mouth went to his neck, but the real question was implicit: ‘who is going to believe me if I tell?’

“I’m scared, Anne…” he whispered and embraced her with the urgency of a drowning man, or maybe of a child clinging to his mother.

“Of the pain?” She let her other hand roam his compact backside.

“Of liking it far too much,” his arms tighten around her, “Of being less than a man.”

“You will always be a man to me,” she promised and her fingers found the slick hole between his buttocks, “A big, strong, lusty, randy and wicked man… even if, tonight, you are my wife.”

He let out a contented groan when her fingers rubbed his insides, if he took notice of how his wife called him, there was not a sign to acknowledge it. Anne could only see how much he was enjoying the caresses. Since his doubts seemed to be placated, Anne pushed him towards the pillow, trying to mimic how he usually did to her.

“Don’t worry, my dearest,” she said, retiring her hand to let him settle among the linens, “I will still love you tomorrow…”

Olivier smiled at her and closed his eyes, his body relaxed to the point he let his head hang from a pillow and when she used her hands to touch his thighs he opened them with the utmost compliance. He really was determined to play his part, and Anne found that incredibly arousing, there was no doubt of her control over this man; he was obliging enough to wrap his legs around her waist and to use his own hand to guide the weapon to its intended mark.

“Make me yours…” Oliver pleaded, his eyes locked into hers, his calves drawing her to his body, his back arched in exquisite anticipation.

It's always difficult to resist him when he asked for it in such enticing tones. Anne closed her eyes and let her weight rest on the hard wood, pushing it into his willing body.

 “ _FUCK!_ ”

The sound of his voice made her stop, Anne was not sure that he was not hurt. The anticipation was erased from Olivier’s countenance and was replaced by shocked distress. Anne stilled her movements,  bewildered by his outburst and yet pleasingly aroused by his coarse language as much as his grimace; that feeling mingled nicely with the amusement provoked by his appalled expression once he noticed the cussing word he just uttered. Olivier didn’t mean to swear in front of Anne —she was sure that he didn’t mean to swear at all—, but that word escaped his lips against his will.

“Well, what I’m doing, my dearest, it is not so far from it, I believe,” Anne said in a very forthright and ladylike tone.

His eyes went wide with wonder before he started to giggle, letting Anne sort out her astonishment at the strange scene for some moments, and she couldn’t help it: he was just there, sprawled, speared and sniggering, and God’s her witness, he had a contagious laugh, even if it was silly and gratuitous.

“Oh, Anne, I love your quick wit…” he mumbled as he got his bearings, one of his hands shot up to caress her cheek.

“Why, thank you,” she said and leaned forward to kiss him.

Olivier eyes went wider as her movement remembered him his precarious situation, but it was too late to stop her.

 “I believe your man need some time…” his protests were drowned by another inch sliding inside his body, followed immediately by a couple of lips touching barely his mouth.

“Nonsense!” she said as he balled the sheet with both of his hands, her hand fondled his cock rhythmically, “I have your weapon in my hand and is roughly the same caliber of mine.”

He just gasped a little and made no forceful sign to make her desist from her purpose. Anne stopped, because, even if his submission was endearing, she needed a little more from him.

“This is as far I'll go,” she said to his face, stilling her movements at the best of her capacity. “Unless you ask for it properly.”

Olivier fixed his eyes on hers, as if he was demanding to know if she was pulling his leg for the game was pretty advanced to courtesies. Once he was convinced she was earnest about it he chose to comply.

“Pleasure me, Anne,” he begged, a hesitant smile fluttered in his lips.

“I had pleasured you already,” she stated, her voice was a little tactless, but full of tactic, “and you know that's not what you are asking for...”

A small frown replaced the hesitant smile. Something a mix of shame and dignity was brewing behind those hard, blue eyes, but she was undaunted by his gaze.

“You know the word I want to hear…”

Oliver couldn't meet her eyes, but she was sure he was torn between what he wanted and what he was not ready to let go. She let her weight rest on her elbows; her hands were placed carefully over his breast and her chin over them while her eyes spied every little quirk of his expression that betrayed the battle against his old-fashioned sense of decorum. Anne could feel the knot between her legs, and the desire to rub it against her sweet button was great, but seeing Olivier squirming was even more enjoyable. She had this big man between a rock and a hard place, both literally and metaphorically. Oh, how powerful she felt at that moment!

“Fuck me,” he finally said with barely audible voice.

Olivier said that dirty word, because she told her so; her pleasure was increased tenfold. The deep humiliation of having to ask for it, however, didn’t seem to deter his pleasure: Anne could feel how his flesh throbbed against her belly.

“That’s better…” Anne rose and placed her hands on his hips.

Her movements extracted another moan, but his thighs clenched around her waist and his back was arched in consonance.

“Louder!” She demanded, enjoying the nice ring of humiliation was still there and Anne smile as she did her best to withdraw the hard, unforgiving piece from his insides.

“Anne!” he moaned her name so unashamedly, his hand was balling the pillow at the side of his dark curls, “No more, please… just, just-” a small whimper and a brief pause to swallow the lump on his throat, “just fuck me already!”

And Anne found that it was a very proper way to ask for it...

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

It was no wonder, knowing how much stamina he could display when it was his turn to be on the saddle. Nonetheless, Anne found her kidneys a little sore after so many jolts and jerks when Olivier’s shortness of breath made her know that he was finally sated, because his body was spent rather than for his spirit had been stripped from its reserves of lust.

In the penumbra, gropingly, Anne tried to find a way to remove the demonic artifact of her loins, she could not help feeling something like awe and admiration for that man who tried to find a comfortable way to sleep; it was clear that Oliver was not of those who shrink from the chastisement, to her surprise, he rather thrive on it. While her fingers traced every loop of the intricately coiled rope around her hips, she couldn't stop a mischievous smile at the heat that still radiated from her sweaty skin; the place where Olivier's thighs captured her was noticeably warmer. Just when she was about to groan her despair at the complicated knots a hand fell over hers and pulled a small tail end of the leather strap, undoing the whole apparatus.

“Sorry,” he said but his voice was almost unintelligible as he nuzzled her hip, “I almost forgot and went to sleep.”

Anne barely refrained from saying she would rather have him asleep, since she was in severe need of being alone, but since he freed her from her predicament that would be too ungrateful, even if Oliver almost always found an excuse for her behavior. Before she could made further protest, her husband took the tool and turned his back to her to clean it on the washbasin; he could be a true gentleman when it suited him and she was grateful, because that allowed her to ditch the cold, sweat-drenched nightgown and replace it with his discarded shirt. The cloth was coarse, so different from the too soft batiste of which were under robes were made; it concealed her body more effectively and soon the starch rubbed off against her skin, leaving it dry. For a moment, Anne wondered why she can't use that kind of genre every day before Olivier's snicker brought her back to his side.

“I seriously doubt that shirt ever suit me half as well as it does to you,” Olivier commented, his hand was closing the lid over the tool. “But... What I'm supposed to wear in my sleep? Your dress?”

“You will look very handsome in it,” Anne replied, hoarding the pillows against the headboard.

“I'll burst the seams,” he protested and returned to the bed, naked and still glistering of sweat.

Anne smiled at him and opened her arms and drew him to her bosom without a word. Olivier let her do, but his stiff body seemed to reject the idea of being cuddled.

“What are you doing?”

“I do canoodle you,” Anne said, her hand was running up and down his spine. “Just like you do to me after I perform my womanly duties, now: Hush!”

He sniggered at her comment and let Anne fondle him. Soon he let out a tired yaw, muffled by her wife’s chest, he was so cute and vulnerable when he was this spent; he was more than undone, he was practically sleepwalking in the bed.

“Ready to sleep, my love?”

“Not quite,” Olivier snuggled up, against her, his hand was toying with her fingers. “I want to be pampered a little more…”

That was easy to comply, she let him her left hand and petted and caressed his hair with the right one, feeling his regular breath and how he melted in the warmth of their bed.

“I love you, Anne,” he said as he slid something over her annular finger. “I'll love you forever.”

Anne stopped her ministrations. Olivier was rather frugal with endearments, but extravagant in his gifts and her mind was gearing to recognize what kind of jewelry had he put in her finger. Unable to  wait, unwilling to play a guessing game after all that hard work she raised her hand and gapped at the sapphire that adorned her finger.

“Olivier!” she gasped her name, “your mother’s ring…”

“Another ring I gave you,” Olivier replied with a small smirk that she felt in her shirt-cladded bosom, “and you have no qualms in wear it and tear it.”

“That's what husbands do with the jewels of their wives!”

“All in good jest,” Olivier clarified and closed her fist before kissing her fingers. “Keep it, Anne. I promise my mother to give the ring to the woman I would love forever, and which woman I would love more than the one I gave my most precious jewel?”

Anne hugged him and kissed his pate in a burst of joy.  Olivier let go another thing more important than his most intimate spot, he let go the only woman who might become a barrier between them; certainly he made that annoyed grunt he let out every time she fussed too much over his person, but he hiked his knee higher and his arms drew her close.

“I need to sleep, my dove,” he mumbled, his voice obscured by the mass of her breast. “I mean to hunt early in the morning.”

“Are you sure you are fit to ride after this night?”

“Keeping in consideration that I only plan to mount you…”

The lusty hellion to the end, but Anne let him slide into his slumber unbothered, maybe tomorrow was meant to be the morning where they both make an heir to the title and the land.

Maybe tomorrow would be the day when her status and wealth might be assured.

 

 


End file.
